


Dropping the Dough

by hutchabelle



Category: The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 13:19:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7978114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchabelle/pseuds/hutchabelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This chapter was written for d12drabbles, prompt 5--dialogue prompt. The prompt was "What's in the bag?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dropping the Dough

“What’s in the bag?”

 

Peeta jumped as Katniss slipped her arms around his waist and murmured the words into his right ear in a throaty alto. She’d always been quiet, stealthy almost, from her early days as a hunter. She still spent time in the forests that surrounded the boundaries of a rebuilt District 12. Thankfully, now her time was filled with relaxation and exercise instead of a desperate attempt to find food for a starving population.

 

“You scared me,” he chuckled and leaned slightly backward into her slight frame. “I almost dropped my dough.”

 

“Is that what the kids call it nowadays?” she drawled wryly and squeezed him with her gentle touch. He snorted and turned in her arms to pull her close to him. He couldn’t help the hint of a smile that curved his lips upward, and he leaned down to kiss her gently on the lips.

 

“I don’t think the kids have a name for what we do together.” His eyes danced as color flooded her cheeks and she attempted to pull from his arms.

 

“Be serious, Peeta,” she begged. “And no jokes about me being ‘pure’. Pretty sure three positions last night ruled that out—if nothing else had before then.”

 

“Hmmmm… I remember each of those distinctly, my dear Katniss. You’re very bendy. Looking forward to getting you in those predicaments again soon,” he teased and then dodged as she took at playful swipe at him. He caught her by both wrists easily and then answered her original question. “Sugar cookies.”

 

“Sugar cookies?”

 

“Yes, sugar,” he answered with an exaggerated wink, “sugar cookies. In the bag—or sack as we always called brown paper containers at the bakery. Cookies for Haymitch. His birthday is tomorrow, and you know how much he hates cake. I figured this was the best way to make something that celebrates, but doesn’t irritate, him—if that’s something that’s even possible.”

 

She nodded, her face serious, and then grimaced. “I told you not to call me, sugar.”

 

“But you’re so sweet!”

 

“Hmph,” she tossed over her shoulder as she left the kitchen. “I expect dinner on the table in 30 minutes, baker boy. I’m going up to shower.”

 

“How am I supposed to cook when all I can think about is your naked body covered in soapy water?” he called after her retreating form.

 

“Very carefully!” she returned before sprinting up the last few stairs to the second floor. A rumble of laughter echoed through his chest until he realized it was her turn to cook dinner.

 

How she’d managed to make him forget was beyond him when the cooking schedule had been the source of one of the rare fights in their relationship since they’d grown back together. Without question, Peeta was the better baker of the two, but Katniss could whip up a stew faster than he could get a pot of water to boil. After she’d turned up her nose at one of his attempts at a casserole, he’d insisted she prepare half the meals. She’d only agreed after a stormy hour of arguments and promises that he’d reward her richly for her efforts.

 

Sighing, Peeta decided to poke a little fun at his reluctant partner with an old recipe his mother had prepared often when he was young. He’d almost finished the dish when Katniss returned to the kitchen, her hair wet and smelling slightly of lavender.

 

“Not ready yet, huh? What have you been doing since I went upstairs?” The tender smile that graced her lips let him know she wasn’t really upset.

 

“I’ve been dropping the dough,” he answered and held up his hands. They were covered in a sticky, off-white substance that he wiped against his apron.

 

“Peeta, that’s unsanitary.”

 

“I wasn’t doing _that_ , Katniss,” he explained as he rolled his eyes. “I made chicken stew and drop biscuits. Get it? Dropping the dough? Why do you doubt me?”

 

She shook her head and heading to the living room where she settled onto the couch. After a few minutes, she called to him, “When that’s done and we’ve eaten, maybe we can make something else drop. Like maybe a sack or something.”

 

“Sounds like pretty good after dinner plans to me.”

 

“Me too,” she agreed as she stretched her legs and propped her heels on the table.


End file.
